IN THE COMPANY OF LIONS by Doug Ratner, MD

Enclosed please find the epilogue to my novel, "In the Company of Lions" which was published in June by Wingsepress.?

EPILOGUE: A Stroll to Remember

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Discovered by Zev’s wife posthumously and added to the diary, date unknown.

I stared at the building which housed The Institute for Advanced Study, a mostly brick and stone multiple-storied building that stood alone on the Princeton campus. But what made it stand out was not its architecture but the person who had made the Institute into one of the most respected academic facilities in the whole world, Albert Einstein. As Jewish scientists were driven out of Germany after the national socialists had seized power, leadership in physics had been assumed by the United States which welcomed the brilliance of the young Einstein. Einstein adored the facility and worked diligently there every morning though he followed his own set of rules.

I was determined to hold this world-famous personality at his word when, in his reply to my letter asking for advice on a career path, Einstein invited me to come by and visit with him. Of course, the invitation could have been one of those commonly written signoffs many people use, but I had convinced myself that Einstein was sincere. There was nothing common about this man. Anyway, I would soon find out.

Walking up the stairs and through the newly painted white front door, my palms were already sweaty, which I concluded was indeed natural when on the other side of the door stood one of the most famous men in the world. Peering through the entrance to the faculty’s offices, I craned my neck to find someone to whom I could explain why I was there. I had been unable to reach anyone by phone earlier as his letter suggested.

“Can I help you, young man?” came the distinctly accented voice of Ms. Elsa Dukas, the secretary who had accompanied Einstein from Southampton on the steamship Westernland, this after having returned to Europe in March of 1933. However, while traveling by ship home he had learned that his homeland had become even more intolerant to Jews. At that point, he and his wife decided never again to seek to return home. They spent some time in Belgium and England before returning to the U.S. Eventually, his stepdaughter Margot, a son Hans Albert and Einstein’s sister Maja joined them in Princeton.

“Yes, yes you can.” I quickly retrieved Dr. Einstein’s letter from my briefcase and handed it unfolded to his assistant. “Of course if this is a bad time…”

“No, not at all,” she replied, folding up the letter and handing it back to me.

“We were just laughing about the new name given him by some clever writer, ‘The Pope of Physics.’ Don’t you think it kind of silly? I don’t know, it’s catchy I guess.” Without waiting for a response, Ms. Dukas rose from her chair and announced my presence to the man himself. I snuck a peek but couldn’t locate him as his office appeared quite spacious but the voice was unmistakable, heard so many times on newsreels. My knees buckled and suddenly my right foot felt like it was on the left side and vice versa. It wasn’t every day that a person, no less Zev Benson, stood on the precipice of meeting one of the most famous people in the entire world. Right up there with FDR, Churchill, and Babe Ruth.

“Hello, hello. Just in time to take a stroll with me and my assistant, Dr. Walther Mayer.” With that, Einstein took my arm and turned me to the door.

“I make it a practice to only work in the mornings and always take a stroll through the park or the campus before walking home. Zev, was it?”

Turning behind him just before descending the building’s front steps, he said, “Walther, this is the lad who wrote to me asking for my opinion on pursuing a career in engineering or science.”

Walther seemed nonplussed. “Oh, I see.” His heavily accented English was a stark reminder that these men, like so many refugees, were from a wartorn Europe.

“What experience did you have growing up in Czechoslovakia?” Einstein asked.

“You recognize my accent I suppose.”

“No more apparent than my own. Be proud of it.”

“Strange, I saw very little antisemitism growing up but once Hitler preached his gospel, everything changed.”

“He gave them permission to hate, my young friend.”

“Are you an observant Jew, sir?”

“Hardly,” Einstein chuckled. “I am Jewish, yes, but not at all a believer in a personal God, who many would have you believe is concerned with the fates and actions of human beings. So na?ve. You see, the issue of God is a problem too vast for our limited minds.”

I didn’t know how to respond.

“Furthermore, this huge universe exists independently of us human beings and stands before us like a great, eternal riddle, at least only partially accessible to our inspection and thinking.” Just at that moment, Einstein stooped to smell the chrysanthemums planted on the walkway leading to the park across the street. “Delicious.”

“Weren’t you persecuted by the Nazis for being Jewish?”

“Quite ironic, I would say. For me, we Jews are no more the chosen people than anyone else. For me, the Jewish religion is like all other religions in that it is an incarnation of the most childish superstitions. However, if something is within me which can be called religious it is the unbounded admiration for the structure of the world so far as our science can reveal it.”

Einstein’s impish face and famous white mane of hair were characteristically unruly in the slight fall breeze. “Think of a child entering a huge library whose walls are covered to the ceiling with books in many different tongues. The child knows that someone must have written those books. It does not know who or how. It doesn’t even know the languages in which they are written. Now, the child notes a definite arrangement of the books, a mysterious order, which it does not comprehend, but only dimly suspects. That is the attitude of the human mind, even the greatest and most cultured, toward God. God is not a personal one…”

He stared directly into my eyes. “I can see my words confound you.” Undeterred, he went on, “Listen, my universe is not ruled by wishful thinking but by immutable laws.”

Finally, I summoned the courage to speak. “I understand, but I must be frank with you, sir. All those days when hunger consumed my very being, watching the barbarism, the sadism in the camps… I found some consolation in praying to the Almighty for some relief.”

Einstein placed his right hand on my shoulder. He didn’t utter a word but with that small gesture spoke volumes.

“My friend, so many have departed this world ahead of me, many in brutal ways. That signifies nothing. For us believing physicists, the distinction between the past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion. Whether a particular human life is meaningful depends on how the individual conceives of his or her own life and the lives of fellow human beings. A primitive human being in this regard is one whose life is entirely devoted to the gratification of instinctual needs. The transition of the human mind from its initial and infantile state of selfishness to a state of unity with the universe requires the exercise of four types of freedom.” Einstein paused long enough to fill his pipe and light it.

“What are they?” Zev asked meekly.

“Freedom from self, freedom of expression, freedom from time, and freedom of independence. Finally, my son, the most important endeavor is the striving for morality in our actions. Only morality in our actions can give beauty and dignity to life.”

I maintained my silence while we walked but eventually continued, “And what about Christianity and Judaism? Have they no place here?”

“Zev, you appear to be a bright young man and will make a wonderful physicist or engineer I’m certain. But would you not agree that the foundation of morality should not be made dependent on myth nor tied to any authority… I do not believe that a man should be restrained in his daily actions, shrinking from possible punishment after death, or that he should do things only because in this way he will be rewarded after he dies. This does not make any sense. Morality is of the highest importance—but for us, not for God. Again, I cannot perceive of a personal God.”

“Albert, you are lecturing again,” Walther interrupted the famous physicist.

“I know, I know.” Both smiled knowingly.

“Zev, my last words of advice to you: humans tend to observe the effects that objects have on them, the greenness of the grass, the coldness of the ice, the hardness of a tree trunk, but not the object themselves. Think about that. Yes, my good friend, be a vital contributor and behold the wonders of this universe. Do something important, invent something that matters!

“Now, then, let me take you to my home for some lunch.” By then, we had arrived at the small home that Einstein cherished, where he was known to invite famous and not so famous individuals for discussions of all types. Today, the guest of honor was Zev Benson.